One Last Time
by TheQuietAwakening
Summary: It's been many years since the war, lives have been lived and now lost. In order to find some sense of closure, Harry decides he must go to his best friend's house, one last time to say goodbye. - written for the Quarter-Finals of QLFC


**Quarter-Finals**

**Theme: In It Together**

**Team: Wasps**

**Chaser 1 Position Prompt: Write a story using your Chaser 2's main location from their first QL fic this season. – the location was Hermione's house**

**Optional prompts: (colour) silver, (object) postcard, (word) mundane.**

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Harry stood, frozen in place, staring at the door in front of him. He had come here in search of closure, in the hope that stepping foot in the house where he and Hermione had shared so much of their lives would somehow ease the pain. It had taken him a long time to get to this point; to be willing to face his anguish head-on. Time was the real push. Whether he was ready or not, Harry needed to find the courage within himself to say goodbye now, or he would never get the opportunity. The house had been sold, and in three days' time, a new family would settle in, would make new memories and live their lives within those walls. It was painful to think of such things. After nearly sixty-five years, the house was the location of so many events, days of laughter, of tears, of celebration, and of mourning. It was Hermione's, and it seemed almost as though it was a part of her, a part of the family. But it was just a building that passed from one owner to the next. In three days, it would be as if they were never there.

He felt as though he had been standing there for hours, stuck in a state of dread. The icy winter breeze stung as it pelted his face, his fingers becoming numb, his breath coming in weak puffs. The arthritis in his knees had the joints screaming out against the cold, pleading for him just to open the door already and find a nice place to sit. His right arm was beginning to shake from leaning so heavily on his cane, and he knew that his body was telling him it was time. But none of these discomforts could compare with the pain Harry knew was waiting for him inside. It would all rush back at once, and there would be no stopping it.

Maybe it was all unnecessary, Harry tried to reason with himself. It didn't matter that he wouldn't be able to enter the house ever again, he would find something else to give him closure. But deep inside, he knew this was something he needed to do.

With newfound determination, Harry slowly released the death grip with which he had held the keys. His hand trembled uncontrollably as he lifted his wrinkled fist to the lock. Of course he was shaking too much for the key to find its place on the first try, and even the second, but finally, the silver metal slid into the keyhole. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed open the door.

The creak echoed through the hall, now plagued with emptiness, and Harry felt the first pang of grief. His cane clicked on the hardwood floor as he slowly moved inside, letting the door drift shut behind him.

This hall used to be filled with vibrant colour, pictures had hung along the walls. But now it was painted a neutral grey, and the photographs had been packed away. Gradually, Harry made his way to the sitting room, all the sounds amplified, piercing to his ears: click, step, step, click, step, step, click, step, step.

Finally, he made his way to the sofa, sinking down into the well-worn blue fabric. Though his old bones sighed with relief, Harry felt his heart shatter. This was the couch where he and Hermione had spent the anniversary of the battle of Hogwarts, making it a tradition to eat a tub of ice-cream and share wonderful, tear-filled memories of the people who had given their lives that day. It was where Hermione had cried in his arms after her breakup with Ron, and where she had consoled him when his marriage had gone up in a ball of fire and shouting matches. This sofa was where he had been placed, once and for all, into the eternal friend-zone. It was also where she had announced that she was going to adopt a child who had lost their parents during the war, where he later learned that she was actually adopting three. Harry ran his fingers through his thin silver hair. Such a mundane piece of furniture held the most precious of memories, and it was all too much.

Tears were soon blurring his vision, making his cheeks wet and sticky, his chest burning for air between gasping sobs. It was all overwhelming him. How could she be gone? They'd known it would happen eventually, but it seemed too soon.

Harry heard the door open and close and quickly wiped his tears away with the palms of his hands.

"Harry, is that you?" a woman's voice called from down the hall. "You know I said I'd come with you. You didn't have to come alone," she told him as she came around the corner.

Josephine was the oldest of Hermione's adopted daughters. She'd had to grow up quickly to look after her younger sisters as the war had raged on, and afterwards, in the newly adjusting world. She kept that sense of responsibility and still seemed to take care of everyone else.

"I know," Harry replied, his voice cracking. "But this was something I had to do by myself."

"Are you alright?" she asked, sitting next to him on the sofa.

Harry swallowed and took a deep breath. "I'm alright. Or I'll be alright anyway." He paused, then asked, "Are you?"

Josephine cleared her throat, looked down, and pushed her jet-black hair behind her ear, fiddling with the ends.

"I have to be, now don't I?" she said, not meeting his eyes. "Maya and Celeste need me to be strong and take the reins for all of this. And the kids are pretty upset, losing their grandmother has been hard on them." She swallowed and looked up. "We all knew it was coming, and it was for the best. You know how she was suffering at the end."

And he did. She had been battling the cancer for nearly a decade and had almost beaten it for a time too. That was what made it all the more difficult for him to believe. He had had that hope. Even when things had taken a turn for the worst, he had held the irrational hope that she would get better. But she hadn't.

"That doesn't mean you're not allowed to be upset," he told her.

Josephine had been the rock for her family, preparing all the funeral arrangements, getting the house ready to be sold, packing up all of her mother's things. Harry worried that she had not yet given herself the chance to mourn.

"I know," she started quietly. "After everything's over, I'll let myself grieve."

"I'm not sure that's healthy."

"I don't give a damn about what's healthy; it's what's needed," she snapped. Josephine sighed. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

Harry hated to see her like this. This wasn't what Hermione would have wanted. He knew what he had to do.

His hand trembled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded card. It was bent in all directions, its edges frayed, its colour faded and smudged in places, but it would always be close to his heart. Harry swallowed his rising emotions as he unfolded the postcard. Hermione had sent it to him when she had taken the three children to France one summer. She had been so young then, strong, independent, and that was how he would always remember her.

"I remember that trip," Josephine said. "It was the summer before Celeste was going to start at Hogwarts. We were so happy; everything was so exciting. Mum showed us everything the Wizarding community there had to offer, as well as all the muggle attractions." The woman was smiling from the recollection, but Harry could see the glaze of tears in her eyes.

"I want you to have it," Harry announced, handing the old postcard to her.

"What?" Her eyes widened in shock.

"I think you need it more than I do," he insisted.

Slowly, Josephine took it. "Are you sure?"

"Hermione would be so proud of you. But she also wouldn't want you to hold everything inside. You can't move on like that. Take it. Mourn her as the woman who was able to take in three amazing little girls as a single mother. Mourn her as the mother she once was, not the frail, suffering woman she became at the end."

Suddenly, Josephine could no longer contain her tears, and they spilt over in a flood. Harry pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she finally allowed herself to cry. He had come to Hermione's house one last time in an attempt to find closure for himself. Maybe they could both find some healing today.

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**A huge thanks to my teammates Hemlockonium, Queen Bookworm the First, and Ponine009 for beta'ing!**


End file.
